Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Ignacia is far more powerful than she knows. Trolls and unicorns don’t need to exist when people like her do. She’s an anomaly. She refuses to be chased away, and she won’t let me just be. She has to keep trying. On top of all that, she’s just herself. Deliciously herself. Somewhere, I lowered my guard just enough, and she slipped in. She has something over me now. Something that could hurt me. Something that will hurt me after I hurt her. It’s inevitable. I have no idea how it happened, but it did. It’s real, and it scares me. It’s a hairline crack in a heart that I promised myself would never break again.
“I’m not going to throw up,” I rasp and sip the coffee just to prove it. It tastes extra wonderful, which is like a kick to the sack I don’t need right now.
“Are you absolutely positive you don’t have a concussion or any internal damage?”
“Not really, but I think I’m fine.”
“My god.” She gets off me, her dress swirling and swishing, her head shaking hard enough to send blonde hair flying all over. “Are you okay with what I brought for you? Do you need something else? A whole bottle of ibuprofen, maybe?”
“A whole bottle? No. Just two.” Ugh, yes, I asked her. I asked for something. But whatever. It’s not a weakness.
Ignacia is a weakness.
The way I’m attracted to her is a weakness.
The complete, utterly fucked up, non-cold, hard deadness I feel inside is a weakness.
“It’s okay to have an off day. A few hours off to just enjoy a cup of coffee and a hot bath. You don’t always have to be all muscly and hard and powerful. You don’t need complete and absolute control over everything.”
Ugh. I can stomach the oatmeal and get that banana down, but I am not having this conversation. “Ignacia?” I call out.
Her face softens. She angles toward a beam of sunlight as she steps around the bed, and it highlights all her soft brown freckles and turns her skin to flawless cream. “Yes?” Her eyes are the bluest things I’ve ever seen in my life. And her beauty is the truest thing I’ve ever known, both inside and out.
“Next time you want to sit up on the roof, tie a rope around your waist and anchor it in here. That’s not up for discussion, even after I’m gone.”
Chapter fourteen
Ignacia
(Still Refusing to be Sam Until This is All Over)
Beau lasted two days on bed rest before he turned into a grumpy, restless, surly Neanderthal of a beast. Although, to be fair, I’ve used the whole prehistoric man term before, so I’m not sure it applies unless he became more caveman, but maybe that’s mean. The foulness he exhibited—growling into his phone, stomping around, commanding that I not make any trips outside the house that he didn’t sanction, even into the yard, and refusing to let me help him do anything at all, even though it was clear he was still hurting—far outdid any caveman behavior that ever could have existed.
Up in my bed, I’m not surprised to startle awake, my heart hammering and skin clammy, only to hear Beau knocking around downstairs. He hasn’t been able to sleep much because he’s been so uncomfortable. Not that he’d admit it. He’d rather grate the other side of his face off than share anything with me. His trick is to avoid me as much as possible during the day and then keep himself awake all night, making calls and pacing the house. He can’t sit still, and I feel like I can’t sit still either.
There’s something I want to say to him.
But I’ve already said too much.
Something bangs down below.
Goodness. Beau is usually pretty quiet about his night walking. Not because he cares that I’m up here trying to sleep, but because of the whole avoidance thing. Waking me up and having me come down there wouldn’t give him the aloneness he craves.
I can tell he thinks his team is taking too long to nail Aiden down. He wants out of here. I’m getting too close to him. I’m getting under his skin. He’s shared some truths with me that no one else knows, and he feels it’s dangerous. I’m a threat.
I think.
It’s sometimes hard to read him. Okay, fine, all the time.
Another bump. For the love of cheese.
I sit up in bed and reach for the glass of water on my nightstand. I stretch a hand out along the pillows beside mine, along the quilt. It’s not cold because it’s hot enough in this room to give the air conditioner a workout, but it feels cold and empty to me because Beau isn’t here. However, he doesn’t belong in this spot. It’s not his. He’s only here once a week, and it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just an arrangement.